


it's years of work undone, and it's years of work to come

by AndromedaVonQuaia12



Category: Hermitcraft, The Weight Of Lies (Hermitcraft)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Bones, M/M, The Weight Of Lies, Wing Injury, it gets better i promise it just takes a while, twol au, will update tags as chapters come out i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaVonQuaia12/pseuds/AndromedaVonQuaia12
Summary: Mumbo watched in horror as Grian took a trident to his wing mid flight. He desperately tries to keep him alive while things start to unravel before his very eyes.Twol au stuff.
Relationships: Grian/Mumbo Jumbo
Comments: 24
Kudos: 218





	1. Bird With A Broken Wing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Weight of Lies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20027974) by [BastardBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin). 



Mumbo watched in horror as Grian took a trident to his wing mid flight. 

He felt his mouth go dry the moment he heard him scream, seeing the splatter of blood upon white feathers as they detached from the impact. He stared as Grian was sent careening, spiraling downwards, somewhere between the shoreline and ocean. Mumbo sprinted, _sprinted_ towards him like his own life depended on it, like he could outrun the pull of gravity, like he could run over the waves and catch him safely in his arms before falling into the undertow.

The wingless angel focused on his friend’s lurching form as he tried to regain control in the air, the ground coming closer, faster, and Mumbo desperately darted toward him in the sunny haze. The salty ocean air howled past his ears as he calculated his speed, he wouldn’t get there in time - but he didn’t stop. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart, the adrenaline, and his feet against the ground. And Grian screaming. The mindless echo of _please, please, please, please_ as he fruitlessly sprinted over the concrete, through the grass, and onto the sandy shores of the island behind his base.

He wasn't fast enough. Grian hit the shore like a meteor, a cloud of sand bursting around him just a few feet ahead of Mumbo.

He knew how Grian felt about dying, how they all felt - the lingering ache as you reawake in whatever bed you slept in last, the reluctance to get back up, the heaviness of whatever killed you still pulling on your body and mind, the stench of burning, rotting, or bleeding flesh refusing to escape your nose. _If only I weren’t so useless, just a wingless angel, hopeless and grounded,_ he caught himself thinking. In normal circumstances, he’d fight back those thoughts effortlessly, but as he skidded into the sand in front of Grian he found he had no time.

Mumbo knew he wouldn’t be prepared to see whatever the aftermath would be, assuming Grian even survived the fall, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight in front of him, something even his worst nightmares couldn’t hope to create. He felt the dread in his gut multiply tenfold as he dropped to his knees in front of the scrawny, broken body of his friend, the ocean breeze quickly replaced by the metallic scent of blood.

Grian was collapsed upon the ground, a pool of blood seeping into the sand underneath him, one wing contorted over his face in a way that made Mumbo’s missing wings ache just from looking at it, and the other wing had that trident lodged just below the bone, hooked edges locking it in, the looming threat of tearing more flesh if you were to try to pull it out. That sight alone would be agonizing enough, but the wings that wrapped his angel friend weren’t their usual white. They were a deep, ebony black, each feather reflecting the oppressive sunlight as if they were covered in resin, the bloodsoaked ones matting together like a carpet after a flood. He hadn’t the faintest idea of what that could mean for Grian, but it didn’t look like anything good. 

And then he realized something: Grian’s body being here meant he wasn’t dead yet.

Mumbo quickly put his shaking fingers under Grian’s jaw - there was a pulse, thank goodness, and he let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Grian was breathing in low, shallow breaths. He looked so delicate and pale, and the damp, warm blood soaking into the panicking angel’s knees and the sand sticking to his pants reminded him that just because Grian was breathing and not dead didn’t mean he was in good condition. So Mumbo tore open his pack and prayed for something of use in his monstrosity of an inventory. 

The gravelly scent of cobble mixed with the metallic, burning twinge of redstone hit his nose as he frantically sifted through the contents of his pack. White glass, concrete, and assorted redstone bits sat in disarray amongst a single stack of golden carrots. _Brilliant,_ he thought, bitterly. Carrots weren’t exactly the best thing to give someone unconscious, but it might just have to do. That is, until he felt the telltale surface of a potion bottle at the bottom of his pack. Mumbo gasped as he pulled it out with enough force to spill some concrete onto the bloodied sand, only to see the bright fuschia of a health potion. He let out a shaky breath as he cradled the redstone-stained potion bottle for dear life. Good lord, it had to be a miracle. He’d never been so grateful for a disorganized inventory in his life.

Now the problem was to get an unconscious Grian to drink it. Mumbo felt the panic start to rise in his throat. _How in the world do you get someone unconscious to drink something? Would they choke? How fast do potions work? I’ll have to put his wings back in place, would that be better to do while he’s unconscious? God, that must hurt like the dickens! Not to mention the trident-_ His thoughts were interrupted by a hiss coming from Grian.

“Grian! Grian, don’t move, I’ve got a potion to help you heal up.” He sucked in a breath, trying to lighten the mood. It might’ve worked if it weren’t for the panic in his voice, clear as the very bottle he held gingerly in his hands. “That was a nasty fall, wasn’t it? Haha…”

Grian’s voice came out pained and quiet. “..Mumbo?” He couldn’t see his face past the feathers, but he sure didn’t sound very well.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. I’m gonna- I’m gonna need to move that wing, Grian. It’s- It’s not gonna feel very good, I need you to drink this potion.” He did his best to keep his voice even. It really wasn’t working.

“I… Okay.” Grian croaked.

Mumbo carefully reached for his friend’s wing, and gently lifted the primary feathers off of Grian’s face. He couldn’t stop the gasp that left his throat as soon as he saw him. If he thought the newly-blackened wings were a surprise, he did _not_ expect this. There was some blood and sand caked to the right side of his face. More notably, sat on either side of his skull were two horns, curling out and backward, their bases hidden amongst his wavy blonde hair. And lastly, the purple angel markings that had been on his face since Mumbo had met the newest hermit were gone. But Mumbo pushed all his questions aside in favor of opening the potion bottle with a pop, a waft of strawberry smacking him in the face.

“Here,” Mumbo whispered, and Grian’s expression as he brought the bottle closer was weary, eyes sunken deep, his face deathly pale and his eyebrows were taut, creasing in the middle. He didn’t really look at Mumbo, or the potion, rather, he didn’t seem to look anywhere. It made Mumbo’s heart sink even further, his friend must’ve been in so much pain. As soon as the bottle reached his lips, he started drinking and didn’t stop, like his life depended on it (which it did). Mumbo almost couldn’t tip it up fast enough. As soon as he was done, he turned his head and buried it further into the sand with a heavy, relieved sounding sigh. 

“Right, well, we’re gonna have to put your wings back in the right place before the potion fully does it’s job. And the trident…” Mumbo trailed off, looking back at the wound and wincing.

“Just rip it out,” Grian grunted through the sand. He sounded better, at least.

“Grian, It’s a trident, you can’t just rip it out. The barbs-”

“Well, how else are we gonna get it out?” He hissed, before sighing, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “I’ll be fine.” Mumbo was incredulous. Had he never been stabbed with a trident before? Surely the drowned had gotten to him? He made his starter base at the bottom of the ocean, for goodness sake. But Mumbo's frantic brain couldn't hope to put the proper trident removal procedure into words, so he got to work. He pulled his sword out of his pack, only to hear a panicked noise from Grian as he started to scramble away. 

“Grian, wait, I’m not going to hurt you!”

Despite his shuffling, Grian had barely moved, head still buried in the sand, fear tracing his every feature. He was too weak to flee, yet he still tried, and as he stared up at Mumbo he could only think he looked like a cornered animal, and it pulled at Mumbo’s already distraught heartstrings. “Wh- Then what are you doing with that sword?!”

“I need to break the trident to get it out of there! It’s already damaged, it should only take a few hits and then you’ll be free!”

Grian let out an alarmed squeal that surely only dogs would be able to hear as Mumbo tried to calm him down, his wriggling kicking up sand into his open wounds. Mumbo couldn't help but feel a little hurt that Grian genuinely thought he’d hurt him, though mostly from the fact that Grian seemed unable to trust anyone, much less him. Mumbo wouldn’t even consider laying a finger on him! He set his sword in the sand and kneeled where he could be seen by his injured companion.

“Grian, please, I’m going to hit the trident, not you!” He didn’t mean to sound so exasperated as he said it, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Grian only whimpered in response. 

Mumbo steeled his nerves, putting on the most sincere voice he could muster in his frenzied state. “I _promise,_ I will never lay a finger on you. Not now, not ever. I want to _help_ you, Grian, not hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you, and I never will. I don’t know how long it will take for you to believe it, but I’ll repeat it a thousand times if I have to. I _won’t_ hurt you. Now will you please let me help?”

If Mumbo thought Grian’s previous expressions were painful, he _really_ wasn’t prepared for this one. He looked so utterly taken aback, so uncertain, so _doubtful,_ the corners of his eyes starting to water and his mouth slightly ajar. He looked so tragically hurt, and Mumbo wanted to scream in frustration. _Why couldn't he just believe he deserved basic respect for once!?_ His thoughts were interrupted once again by another Grian noise.

“I… Okay.”

“Thank you.” Mumbo felt himself smile, and he gave his friend a gentle pat on the side of his face before retrieving his sword and standing back up. He watched his friend bury his face fully as Mumbo gently grasped the handle of the trident, preparing to smack it with all his might, just like Xisuma had taught him and the other hermits. When struck by a trident or an arrow, break the handle - the barbs would make it impossible to pull out of the flesh. Luckily for Grian, the prongs went all the way through, meaning all you had to do was to break them at the connection point and you could pull them out the way they came in. Mumbo took a deep breath and swung.

The first collision didn’t do much but send a metallic clang ringing through his ears and an unpleasant vibration up his arms that made him feel like a cartoon character. The trident was looking rather worse for wear, though, and the second swing garnered far more success, a crack forming at the base of the prongs. The final swing let out a _crack_ not unlike a baseball hitting a bat, and one prong already freed itself from the wound and clunked into the sand next to Grian’s head. Mumbo let out another shaky breath, discarding the trident handle into the sand behind him. He gently pulled out the other two prongs, still covered in drying blood. Luckily, as soon as they were out, the potion got to work on healing the reopened wound as he carefully wrapped some bandages around his friend’s wing.

“Alright then. Just- Just gotta put your other wing back into place.” He grimaced. Broken wings were the worst.

Grian let out an “uh-huh” as he nodded into the sand, stretching his now trident-free wing to rest on the ground. Mumbo gingerly grasped the finger bones of his broken wing: The radius and ulna were snapped just below the elbow, leaving the rest of it dangling over his face. Any shift would hurt so bad Mumbo almost entertained the idea that death might just feel better, but if he knew Grian like he thought he did, he’d rather go through mind-numbing torture before surrendering to the void of death, respawn or no. Besides, once the bones were back in their right place the pain would lessen tremendously. The problem, however, was that wing bones were hollow, and likely shattered on impact. The health potion would help, sure, but it would likely need to get seriously inspected before he could safely fly again. And knowing Grian, that wouldn’t be something he’d be too happy about, either.

He took in a deep breath. It was now or never, he supposed. Mumbo gently began to lift the wing, biting his tongue between his molars as Grian let out a scream that would haunt his nightmares. He desperately tried to keep his hands still as he followed the angle of the break as if it were the hand of a protractor, gliding it back to 180, the shattered bones grinding against each other as he went. He could almost feel the pain himself - He’d broken his wings once before, and the injury left him grounded for weeks. Although, looking back, it really wasn’t that bad. At least he was able to fly again. 

He reached back over Grian and into his pack with one hand, fetching some sticks and bandages to make a splint. He’d passed out again in the process of setting the wing, and while Mumbo was probably too concerned for his own good, the logical part of his brain knew Grian needed rest, and getting him to rest normally was literally impossible. So he finished the splint before carefully turning his angel-something-or-other friend over and picking him up to bring him somewhere more comfortable to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like ive thought about the scene where mumbo finds out grian's actually a demon (the one that stole his wings no less) so many times, but like, i had this idea like. "haha what if grian got knocked unconscious bc then the glamor would fall" and then i ran the hell with it. ive literallly never written anythign this dark before but i really love how its come out. next chapter's the one where it all comes out in the wash so get ready for that >:D


	2. I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mumbo and Grian have a talk. Sort of.

It had been an entire twenty-four hours and Grian still hadn’t woken up. Mumbo paced back and forth over the carpet of the temporary basement he made, the damp air filling his lungs with every deep breath he forced himself to take. He was trying not to panic. It wasn’t working. He’d checked Grian’s pulse twice in the last five minutes. He jumped at the slightest sound. He’d already eaten twelve carrots from pacing alone. For the past 3 hours he’d been trying to keep the other hermits off his back, what with their ever increasing concern that really didn’t need to add to Mumbo’s own. Mumbo was an angel, after all, he knew what a glamour was, and he knew Grian. He’d had been so carefully hiding his form for months now and clearly hadn’t noticed what happened yet, so Mumbo would be damned before he let anyone else see him in this state.

But as he was wearing a hole into the carpet he almost considered calling someone. Mumbo was no medical professional, in fact he wasn’t much of a professional of anything besides redstone, despite what the suit may imply. Surely, if the smaller hermit hadn’t woken up by now, something must be terribly, terribly wrong. And Mumbo had no idea what to do about it. It gnawed at his consciousness like a starving rodent as he continued to pace the haphazardly created safehouse, desperately hoping for something to just happen - for Grian to just wake up and be okay.

Speak of the devil and he shall come, it seemed. Or… Whatever Grian was.

Grian woke with a gasp and a scuffle, shooting up straight in the bed Mumbo had lay him in. He whipped around wildly, trying to assess his surroundings. Mumbo watched his skin pale in the torchlight as his gaze landed on him, eyes blown wide, pupils barely a pinprick like a deer caught in the headlights.

Despite this, Mumbo couldn't help but sigh in relief. “Thank goodness, you’re awake! I was just about to call someone, and I really, really didn’t want to do that to you.” He went to make his way toward him, only to stop dead as Grian frantically shoved himself into the corner trying to get away from him. Mumbo felt the twang of his heartstrings as he realized he thought he was going to hurt him. Again. He lifted his hands in front of him, trying to placate his frightened friend. “Grian, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

He watched Grian’s face twist from shock to deep despair as he glanced between his darkened wings, flat against the walls behind him, and back to Mumbo. “No no no no no no no, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it wasn’t- I didn’t mean-” He raised his arm as if to block an oncoming strike. Mumbo hadn’t even moved.

“Grian, I’m not- I’m not going to hurt you! Look.” He took a step back, arms still raised in front of him. He felt like he was trying to reason with a polar bear with the demeanor of a rabbit. It made his heart ache.

Grian lowered his arm just slightly, testing a glance, and the dam burst. His face contorted even further as he started to sob, and Mumbo wished so desperately to cradle him and tell him everything would be okay, but he didn’t dare break the boundaries they just set. He sobbed for a good while, and he scrubbed at his eyeballs, hid his face, wrapped himself up in those large black wings of his. Mumbo stood there, just out of reach. He really didn’t know how much more of this his heart could take.

It was a good few minutes before Grian spoke again, voice cracked and strained from sobbing. “You know now, don’t you?”

Mumbo had to consider that for a moment. _Know what, exactly?_ But then it clicked- Maybe this is what Grian has been trying to tell him all this time. He knew there was some big secret, some giant thing that Grian was convinced everyone would hate him over once they knew the truth. This was it, wasn’t it? If it weren’t for the sheer amount of concern he was feeling for his friend (and the fact that he knew better), Mumbo would’ve laughed.

“Well, you’re clearly part demon, if that’s what you mean.” Grian’s tired expression tightened up again as he addressed him. “I know how you feel about them, but like I said, I’ve met nice demons before, and you’re no exception. You’re just as much a person as the rest of us. This doesn’t change how I feel about you.” Mumbo felt his eyebrows skyrocket as he realized the implication of his words. _Oh goodness me, I didn’t mean it like that! Way to ruin the moment!_ “Er, uh- You’re still my friend, I mean! I still consider you a friend, I uh- Uhm. Demon! Cool! You’re cool.”

Grian just looked at him like he had three heads. Mumbo could almost see the gears spinning in his head, he clearly had something to say, but wasn’t sure if he should say it. His expression didn’t change when he spoke, tone flat and exhausted. “...Is that all?”

“Wh- What else would… Oh, goodness, you aren’t going to make me confess, are you?” He already felt the heat rise to his cheeks, Mumbo was _not_ prepared for that. Surely his feelings were obvious, he’d kissed him out of a panic attack before (not a good move on his part), and he quite literally just fumbled over his words a mere seconds ago on the sole implication that he might like Grian as more than a friend, even though he _definitely_ already knew that.

But Grian’s expression just shifted further, and now he was staring at him like he’d just taken his diamonds right out of his hands. “No, Mumbo. That’s not- How could you- You just said I’m a demon!” He sounded so frustrated and disbelieving. It made Mumbo a little nervous, a wave of confusion flooding his mind. He tried his best to understand what Grian might mean, but only one conclusion made sense.

He spoke a little softer this time, regarding his distraught friend with all the kindness in his heart. “Grian, I just told you, I don’t hate demons. I don’t hate you.”

Unfortunately, that only seemed to make him more mad. Grian looked so hurt in his anger, clearly regretting his words but unable to stop them from coming. His pitch kept getting higher and higher and his voice kept cracking. “No! That’s- Mumbo, demons don’t have wings! I’m not- I’m not supposed to have wings!” 

“But… Hybrids have wings, sometimes. I just figured…”

“I’m not some hybrid! I’m just a lowly, rotten demon!” Grian cried, distraught, tears starting to flow again. He clutched the blanket to his chest as his shoulders began to shake.

Mumbo’s first instinct was to comfort him, but he felt himself ask the question without thinking. “Then... How do you have wings?” He felt like he already knew the answer.

“Because these wings aren’t mine!”

Oh.

_Oh._

Mumbo felt his blood run cold. He felt all the pieces Grian had left in his wake pull together, the truth falling into place like ancient soldiers moving into formation. Mumbo desperately clung to some hidden hope, _surely it wasn’t… It couldn’t be, could it?_ He certainly wasn’t the sharpest of hermits, he was a spoon after all, but as he watched his friend’s trembling form, shoved into the corner on the disheveled bed it seemed he couldn’t deny the revelation forming in front of him.

Grian was a demon.

He had wings.

Mumbo did not.

Those wings weren’t Grian’s.

Grian… Grian stole his wings. _His_ wings. That’s why- that’s why he had wings.

He felt the earth slow to a stop around him. Grian wasn’t crying, his heart wasn’t beating, the torchlight wasn't flickering and he couldn’t feel himself breathe. He understood why the purple markings formerly on his friend’s face looked so familiar. He understood why those wings looked so giant on him, why he didn't know how to groom, why all that time ago Grian struggled with flight so much. Why he wouldn’t sleep with anyone around. Why he was so terrified of demon hunters. Why he didn’t grow up in the end. Why he was so adamant Mumbo would hate him. The world only started to turn again when he heard Grian wiggle out of the bed, plastered to the wall, making for the ladder on the other side of the room. Mumbo made himself speak before he could fully make a break for it.

“Did you know?” The words fell out his mouth harsher than he meant them, and he only registered it due to the wince Grian gave him.

“Only since we first met,” he took another step along the wall, grimacing.

Mumbo felt himself sigh, short and heavy. He looked to the ceiling in an attempt to process the whirlwind of emotions in his gut. The emotions were almost impalpable, a mix of surprise, betrayal, concern, and far too many others. Molding into it all, like molten aluminum in an anthill, he felt the hatred of feeling this way, especially toward someone he considered such a dear friend. He hated feeling so bad toward the boyish troublemaker, the friend he’d found himself so smitten with, romantic feelings notwithstanding. He felt his eyebrows knit together as he tried to think of what to say, expecting to look down and see empty stone walls where Grian once stood. 

But he was still there, holding his ground, and a drop of pride made its way into the hurricane. The Grian he first met would’ve been long gone by now. So Mumbo began with a tone of authority he had never used before, perhaps didn’t realize he was capable of. “You know how I said I could never hate you?”

He could already see the rejection settle into Grian’s features, his fluffed out wings smoothing dejectedly before Mumbo even finished the question. “Yeah?” He replied. He’d already accepted his fate.

“Well, I don’t.” He spoke with more certainty than he ever had in his life. He said it like he would say he loved using redstone. He said it like he would say that the sky is blue or creepers explode. He said it like it was inevitable, like he would say the Hermits were the best thing to ever happen to him, like he would say Grian was his friend. Because he was. He _still_ was. 

Grian gasped, his eyebrows vanishing behind his fringe in an instant before curling in on themselves in sheer disbelief, eyes watering again and spilling over the surface of his already tear-stained cheeks. “That’s not - You’re not - Why can’t you just say one thing that makes sense?!” He wailed, hands splayed out in front of him like he was pleading for repentance, for Mumbo to hate him and hurt him for his crimes.

Mumbo’s stern tone morphed into one of pure hurt as he let his heart speak for him. 

“But I don’t forgive you.”

Grian looked like Mumbo had just stabbed him with the very trident he rescued him from, and Mumbo hurried to finish his statement before he could twist the prongs any further. “Not- Not yet at least! I promise you that, I’ll forgive you in time, I just- I’m gonna need some time to work through this one, Grian. This… This is a lot to take in. But I meant what I said. I’ll never hate you.” He dropped his voice for a whisper, his words bearing such finality that not even the Archangels could argue with. “Not even for stealing my wings.”

And Grian just… broke. He let out a choked sob, then another, and before Mumbo knew it he collided into him, wrapping his arms around him and stretching the fabric of his suit jacket as he clutched on for dear life. And Mumbo returned the gesture, holding him like he was going to split apart any second. He felt a little relieved, though it was a melancholic feeling - He could finally comfort his friend, but… As he gazed at the large, dark wings unfolding and wrapping the two of them he felt his stomach twist around like a taffy puller. He couldn’t help the longing creeping into his bones as he reached out and smoothened down a stray feather, tilting his head and leaning into Grian, who was currently soaking his shoulder. That only seemed to deepen Grian’s sorrow as he let out another loud, agonized sob, tightening his grip on Mumbo, feeble attempts at saying _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ with every breath. Mumbo couldn’t take it anymore. He held him tighter and began rubbing circles just below Grian’s - _his_ wings - shushing him and whispering words of comfort, _It’s okay, I don’t hate you, you’re safe,_ and he nearly bit his tongue in response to the three words edging their way up his throat. 

Even when he’s literally stolen the wings from off his back, Mumbo just can’t stop falling in love with him, can he? 

He’d be frustrated if he didn’t make him so happy under normal circumstances. The current moment wasn’t exactly the best example, not with his gut contorted like a pretzel and the feathers that used to be _his_ brushing against his back in the embrace. He felt the water begin to pool at his eyelids and Mumbo started crying, too, the quiet kind of cry where you don’t shake or sob but the tears trail down your face in silence. And Mumbo kept whispering _shh, I don’t hate you, I don’t hate you, I’ll never hate you._ And he doesn’t, he really truly doesn't, even in the miserable state his mind is in, even with the pain of what probably feels like betrayal. He found himself starting to wonder whether he doesn’t hate Grian because they’re friends or just because of the romantic feelings, and he pushes those thoughts away with the force of a ravager as he kept whispering, kept comforting, not only for Grian but for himself, too.

Mumbo was gonna need some space after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im happy with this chapter i think. my mind is really foggy as im posting this but i want it up like Immediately. but like.... this was like the entire conception of the fic right here. a lot of representations that ppl put out of like The Big Reveal for twol have mumbo just kinda shrugging it off and i really wanted him to like _feel_ it yknow? and is also the reason its in his perspective. i hope i conveyed grian's panic enough despite it not being his perspective, especially how he just kinda suddenly starts spilling everything (not that he could really hide it anymore but i wouldnt put it past him to keep trying).  
> it gets better from here so i hope u guys will stick around to the end (and i'll stick around to write it im so good at empty promises)  
> also if u coudlnt tell from the chapter name they are song names from my twol playlist, lmao.  
> grian, this chapter, distressed: well if you wanted honesty thats all u had to say i never want to let u down or have u go its bETTER OFF THIS WAY  
> anyway heres ur food im gonna go eat mine i havent eaten in 4 hours


End file.
